The Woes of a Whipping Boy
by Diva-esque
Summary: Bookverse. Someone has to clean up after Howl's messes – and before Sophie arrives, Michael is the one left with the unenviable task.


**The Woes of a Whipping Boy**

_by aishuu_

* * *

Michael is never quite sure if gaining an apprenticeship with the Great Wizard Howl is a blessing or a curse. Sometimes he suspects it's both. 

Today it's definitely a case of the later, since the middle-aged woman who is glaring at him sends a shiver up his spine. Wistfully he glances over at the textbook on runes he'd been studying until this intrusion, wishing he could just dive back into his reading.

She's a tough old bat, ignoring the gunk that has accumulated in the main living area, her eyes fixed only on his face. If only he'd been faster slamming the door to Kingsbury shut, but she'd stuck her foot in the entryway and barged in before he had a chance.

This is not going to end well. It never does.

"Where is your master, boy?"

Michael is very tired of being seen as a child, since he _is_ about to turn fifteen. But in this case he doesn't feel like arguing, since the woman in the blue hat is _not_ in a good mood. No use in antagonizing her. "I don't know."

There's been times – many, many times in the last couple of years – that he's had to lie to cover his master's tracks, but this time he's being honest. Howl had bustled out to Market Chipping earlier, his face alive with a smug, cat-like smirk of self-satisfaction that Michael is very well-acquainted with. Howl has just discovered another young lady he wishes to woo, not coincidentally forgetting about the one he's left behind.

The woman's eyes narrow in a way that is less than reassuring, and Michael cringes a bit inside, but doesn't let her see his fear. It is silly to be afraid; he is a wizard's apprentice, and there is Calcifer, too, simmering over in his fireplace. And Howl will fish him out if things are really dire... oh, who is he kidding. If things get really bad, Michael is on his own.

"You're telling me that the Wizard Pendragon has just wandered off, leaving no word to where he can be found if he's needed for an emergency?"

"Um, that's right," Michael replies, backing up slightly and wishing there is some way to shove the harpy out the door without making things worse. Then he opens his mouth and manages to send the situation straight to hell with just a few words. "And I don't think you have a real emergency, anyway."

"I do," she practically snarls. "My niece is crying her eyes out over that- that worthless Lothario!"

Michael can't deny the whole Lothario thing – he doesn't have a clue what she means. But... "He's not worthless!" he snaps back, his temper getting the better of his common sense. As soon as he says it, he knows it's a big mistake.

The old lady reaches up to her hat, and with a swift jerk frees a hat pin. And stabs it into his hand before he can even react. The thing bloody _hurts_.

Five minutes later, the old lady stomps out, but not before muttering a threat that Wizard Pendragon is going to get worse, when she gets her hands on him. As soon as the door shuts behind her, he spins the knob to green, figuring that anything has to be safer than leaving it on Kingsbury. The old wretch might decide to come back with reinforcements. It's happened before.

He studies his abused hand, which is riddled with pinholes, knowing he's going to need a bandage. Pushing aside a stack of pans, he bumbles around the place, trying to find something to use without much luck. His master could care less about housekeeping, and Michael only cleans something when he knows he's going to need it. There's no point in cleaning the place up if it's only going to get messy again.

He hears Calcifer laughing, and spares a moment to shoot the demon a dirty look. "This really isn't funny," he says, wondering if he can find a stash of pain-reducing potion before remembering that Howl had used the last batch to get rid of a hangover.

"I think it is!" Calcifer says gleefully, his flames fluttering with amusement.

"You would." Michael stumbles on a shovel that he doesn't remember seeing before. "That's the second angry relative this week," he complained.

"He does seem to be picking up his pace, doesn't he?"

Michael's response makes thorough use of the vocabulary his master indulges in when he screws up an experiment. Finally he discovers an unopened box of plasters that Howl brought back from the Wales door. After slapping them over his open wounds, he turns to retrieve his abandoned book.

Only to stop when the door slams open again.

Howl stands in the middle of the room, preening a bit as he adjusts his cuffs. He is dressed in a sharp, scarlet and gray suit that Michael has never seen him wear before. His hair – currently tinted the glorious gold he's become fond of – is set off quite well, though Michael doesn't appreciate it at all. As if they don't have enough problems already, Howl is on the prowl for yet another lady love.

"Isn't it splendid?" he exclaims, twirling around to display his new outfit. "The loveliest seamstress in Market Chipping made it for me."

"What ever happened to the chit in Kingsbury? The one you swore was the light of your life, the future mother of all your beautiful children?" Calcifer asks playfully.

"Who?" Howl looks quite childish himself as he blinks his big blue eyes with confusion. Then a light dawns. "Oh, her. No, no... definitely not. She had a space between her front teeth, and could whistle through it. Horrible, horrible." Then he waves a hand, dismissing the subject from his mind.

Michael can't help but look resentfully at his bandaged hand. This really isn't fair.

Howl digs around the place, looking for something. A minute later he settles on a handkerchief, which he fussily tucks into his breast pocket. "Well, I'm off!" Howl carols, before practically dancing out the door.

Michael watches him leave, his heart feeling heavy. He wishes he had the courage to confront Howl about the whole rotating-girlfriends thing, but knows he never will. He owes Howl too much to be petty about such a minor issues. The girls have it coming, to be so silly as to fall in love with someone like Howl. Love is pretty silly to start with, anyway.

But Michael wants to complain a little, and Calcifer is a captive audience. "Doesn't he get tired of this? I don't know how many more angry aunt attacks I can take!"

"He's a compulsive womanizer. Have a bet on what's next?" Calcifer asks, totally unconcerned about the threatened damage to Michael's person. "I think we're due for another law suit."

Michael shakes his head, amused in spite of himself. There's a certain regular pattern which has developed, and law suits aren't that popular a response. Most of the girls' relatives want to tear Howl to pieces, and law suits are too tame. "Angry father with cudgel."

Calcifer just chuckles, and for a second doesn't seem so daunting. There's nothing like gossiping about Howl to foster their camaraderie. "There was one of those last week. I'm going to win."

"We'll see," Michael replies, hoping the fire demon is wrong. Law suits are a headache, and Michael's gotten good at ducking.

The one thing that is a sure bet is that Michael is going to end up taking the brunt of whatever the fallout of Howl's latest romance is. Some days, Michael wishes that one of Howl's romances will stick. There's a never-ending stream of charming, beautiful girls who catch the wizard's eye, but none of them ever lasts.

There is no woman in the world who deserves Howl; he's not sure if that's a compliment to his mentor or not.


End file.
